[71] HOME R's BATTEL of the FROGS, &c. BOOK I. T O fill my rising Song with facred Fire, Ye tuneful Nine, ye fweet Celestial Quire! From Helicon's imbow'ring Height repair, Attend my Labours, and reward my Pray'r. How threatning Mice advanc'd with warlike Grace, And wag'd dire Combats with the croaking Race. Once on a time, fatigu'd and out of Breath, And just escap'd the stretching Claws of Death, A Gentle Moufe, whom Cats purfu'd in vain, Fled fwift-of-foot across the neighb'ring Plain, Hung o'er a Brink, his eager Thirst to cool, And dipt his Whiskers in the standing Pool; When near a courteous Frog advanc'd his Head; And from the Waters, hoarse-refounding faid: [boaft? What art thou, Stranger? What the Line you What Chance hath caft thee panting on our Coast? With strictest Truth let all thy Words agree, Where by the nuptial Bank that paints his Side, Thee too, thy Form, thy Strength, and Port pro claim A fcepter'd King; a Son of Martial Fame; Then trace thy Line, and Aid my gueffing Eyes. Thus ceas'd the Frog, and thus the Mouse replies. 4 Known Known to the Gods, the Men, the Birds that fly Thro' wild Expanses of the midway Sky, My Name refounds; and if unknown to thee, My Mother she, and Princess of the Plains With Figs, with Nuts, with vary'd Dainties fed. In vain the Tripe that boasts the whitest Hue, In vain the gilded Bacon fhuns my View, In vain the Cheeses, Offspring of the Paile, Or honey'd Cakes, which Gods themselves regale, Mix'd with the braveft, and unknown to Flight. And fix indented Wounds with dext'rous Skill; Yet have we Foes, which direful Dangers caufe, If to the dark we fly, the Dark they trace, But |